“Ay, whoever he _pleases_; and who will that be, if women are of my mind?” muttered Corny. “I’ll engage, if you had a mind to rival him--” “Rival him! the thought of rivalling my friend never entered my head.” “But is he your friend?” said Cornelius. “As to that, I don’t know: he was my friend, and I loved him sincerely--warmly--he has cast me off--I shall never complain--never blame him directly or indirectly; but don’t let me be accused or suspected unjustly--I never for one instant had the treachery, presumption, folly, or madness, to think of Miss Annaly.” “Nor she of you, I suppose, you’ll swear?” “Nor she of me! assuredly not, sir,” said Harry, with surprise at the idea. “Do you consider what I am--and what she is?” “Well, I am glad they are gone to England out of the way!” said Cornelius. “I am very sorry for that,” said Harry; “for I have lost a kind friend in Lady Annaly--one who at least I might have hoped would have become my friend, if I had deserved it.” “_Might have hoped!--would have become!_--That’s a friend in the air, who may never be found on earth. _If you deserved it_!--Murder!--who knows how that might turn out--_if_--I don’t like that kind of subjunctive mood tenure of a friend. Give me the good imperative mood, which I understand--be my friend--at once--or not at all--that’s my mood. None of your _if_ friends for me, setting out with a proviso and an excuse to be off; and may be when you’d call upon ‘em at your utmost need, ‘Oh! I said if you deserve it--Lie there like a dog.’ Now, what kind of a friend is that? If Lady Annaly is that sort, no need to regret her. My compliments to her, and a good journey to England--Ireland well rid of her! and so are you, too, my boy!” “But, dear sir, how you have worked yourself up into a passion against Lady Annaly for nothing.” “It’s not for nothing--I’ve good rason to dislike the woman. What business had she, because she’s an old woman and you a young man, to set up preaching to you about your faults? I hate prachers, feminine gender, especially.” “She is no preacher, I assure you, sir.” “How dare you tell me that--was not her letter very _edifying?_ Sir Ulick said.” “No, sir; it was very kind--will you read it?” “No, sir, I won’t; I never read an edifying letter in my life with my eyes open, nor never will--quite enough for me that impertinent list of your faults she enclosed you.” “That list was my own, not hers, sir: I dropped it under a tree.” “Well, drop it into the fire now, and no more about it. Pray, after all, Harry, for curiosity’s sake, what faults have you?” “Dear sir, I thought you told me you knew them by heart.” “I always forget what I learn by heart; put me in mind, and may be I’ll recollect as you go on.” “Well, sir, in the first place, I am terribly passionate.”